


New

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boot Play, Dom/sub, M/M, Pick Up Play, Public Kink, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22745011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: “Bottom,” Steve replies almost confrontationally, to Tony’s delight. “And I’m into a lot. Just because I haven’t tried it doesn’t mean I’m not informed or ready to play. I can take more than you think.” Tony’s reflecting that hethinksSteve can probably take plenty, when almost as an afterthought, the man softens a bit from his puffed-up chest demeanor and makes an attempt at a more flirtatious expression. “You interested?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 236
Collections: MCU Kink Bingo Round 4, Marvel Polyship Bingo 2020





	New

**Author's Note:**

> Written for MCU Kink Bingo: BDSM Club and Marvel Polyshipping Bingo: Binders

Some nights, Tony heads out to this nondescript warehouse in Jersey looking for something specific. Others, he just wants to take a break from the demanding nature of his work and go somewhere where they may all know his name, but at least they won’t make a big deal of it. It’s in the club rules, and while he’s definitely the  _ most _ famous member, he’s not the only one with name recognition. This group has both the best equipment this close to Manhattan, and the best reputation for discretion. Anyone who does freak out at him will be handled by a DM, and in fact it rarely happens. People see what they expect, given their environment, and Tony also hasn’t been in the media nearly as much over the past ten years, since he hasn’t given them an interesting scandal in about that long. 

Much more common are the tops who turn their noses up at him because of his stature or maybe because they think he’s just a rich idiot playing with toys he doesn’t understand. Tony doesn’t much care, because he’s not here for them, but tonight he’s got half an eye on a scene developing down at the other end of the dry bar. 

He’s had a run-in with “Master” Keith before, though he’d never done anything egregious enough to report to management. The guy’s just a blowhard, one of those men whose ego is so fragile he pins literally all of it on his made-up title and imagined superiority. He’s kind of a dick to subs, but most know to avoid him. The regulars tolerate him, and occasionally he finds someone a bit vulnerable to play with who finds better pickings when they get their confidence up. The guy he’s facing off with, though, is brand new, a tiny blonde spitfire who apparently doesn’t back down when offended but instead gets right up in the much taller man’s face. 

“...assume things about people you don’t know. And  _ another _ thing, I may be new to this place and I may be small, but that doesn’t mean I can’t…”

“Steve,” a third party interrupts, sliding up to the side of the pair, a gentle hand landing between the small man’s shoulderblades. “Not worth it.”

“Well this asshole’s just preying on everyone he sees as fresh meat, and it’s not…”

“Yeah, all right. C’mon, man, find someone else to pick on,” the third man interrupts, steering Keith-the-asshat away even as he grumbles about it. Keith’s not a small man, but the tall drink of water escorting him away is pretty much made of lean muscle, his bearing military, and he gets what he wants. That leaves blondie (Steve, apparently) standing alone, and Tony can’t help but wander down the bar to join him.

“He pulls that shit with everyone. But usually they don’t call him on it,” Tony grins. “I like the chutzpah.” 

Steve brushes it off with a little snort, takes a sip of his water. “I don’t like bullies.”

“I can see that. Tony,” he offers, extending a hand. “Not a bully unless asked nicely for a roleplay.” Blondie narrows his eyes, then gets more of a look at Tony and gives said hand a firm squeeze. There’s no light of recognition in his eyes—Tony always catches it—but there is a cautious appreciation. 

“Cute. I’m Steve.”

“You here with your personal bouncer over there?”

Steve nods, but elaborates. “He’s not here to play tonight. But I am.” He squares his shoulders a bit, less seductive than going-into-battle, and Tony’s not sure why but he likes it. 

“Yeah? First time, or are you old hat at this?” Tony’s pretty sure he knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to offend the firecracker in his presence, so he keeps his tone neutral.

“More or less first time,” Steve admits. “But I know a lot.” 

“Yeah?” Tony smirks, takes a sip of his Perrier. “Know what you’re into? Top, bottom, switch?” he adds, because he knows how fucking annoying assumptions can be. He wouldn’t mind a bite of this snack, but given Steve’s energy, who knows. 

“Bottom,” Steve replies almost confrontationally, to Tony’s delight. “And I’m into a lot. Just because I haven’t tried it doesn’t mean I’m not informed or ready to play. I can take more than you think.” Tony’s reflecting that he  _ thinks  _ Steve can probably take plenty, when almost as an afterthought, the man softens a bit from his puffed-up chest demeanor and makes an attempt at a more flirtatious expression. “You interested?”

“Might be,” Tony admits. He angles his body so that they’re closer, though not touching. “A lot is pretty broad, though. Someone might take advantage,” he teases. 

“Try me,” Steve licks his lips. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. What do you like? Whips? Canes?” 

“Sometimes,” Tony smiles. “You know it can be just as intense even if you don’t start off that hard from the jump, though.”

“Sure,” Steve frowns. “But I can take it.” 

“I don’t doubt you. Maybe the question is more, do you need to?” Tony takes another sip, keeping his poker face rather than indulging in telling Steve that his little frown is terribly cute. “Don’t look so offended. I’ll tell you what—give me 15 minutes of your time. I won’t go heavy, but I get 15 minutes to convince you that you want to continue the scene anyway. All you have to do is be genuine and open to it. If you don’t want to keep going after 15 minutes, Marc over there in the corner is fucking vicious with a singletail,” he offers, pointing to a man who’s flirting with both a boy and a girl in his lap on an armchair. He knows Marc won’t damage the kid, and he actually is quite good at what he does. Steve is quiet for a moment, considering, and then nods. 

“All right. Give it your best shot.”   


Tony laughs, takes a step in so that they’re chest-to-chest, and traces a finger around the shell of Steve’s ear, before cupping his cheek. “Always a challenge with you, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Steve allows. Tony grins and taps Steve’s other cheek lightly with his fingertips.

“I’m not complaining. I like a challenge,” he almost purrs, continuing to slap Steve’s cheek just lightly, bracing his head and maintaining eye contact. He gets a lot of mileage out of the intensity of his focus when it comes to bottoms, always has. Without words, he’s able to convey that Steve had better keep his eyes where they are as he guides the boy down, to his knees, by the back of the neck. Once there, he gets a tighter grip on Steve’s jaw, feeling out the pressure points and very gradually squeezing them harder. Steve doesn’t cry out, but his breathing does get harder, eyes locked on Tony’s. 

“There you go,” Tony murmurs, already searching for more sensitive points around Steve’s collarbones. He gets a half-whimper, half-gasp when he finds them and digs his short nails into the skin. “Red if you need to stop. Yellow to slow down. Keep your eyes on me,” he encourages, brushing his thumbs over the half-crescent marks and then tracing along the V-shaped line of Steve’s black t-shirt. Sweeping his hands out to Steve’s shoulders, he presses him down to sit on his heels, then grabs the bar to keep his balance as he ever-so-gradually applies pressure to the top of Steve’s right thigh with the tread of his boot. There are sounds around them, the dull chatter of folks getting snacks and beverages at the bar, the occasional scream or moan from elsewhere in the space where folks are just starting to get their play on, but Tony doesn’t really notice any of it, his tunnel vision hyper-focused on Steve. 

“Do you like that?” he asks, and Steve nods quickly. “ _ Words _ ,” Tony rebukes, his voice dropping into something crueler, and Steve inhales sharply through his nose.

“Yes. I like it. Harder,” Steve responds, and Tony grins, but doesn’t do as he’s told (when does he ever?) Instead, he crouches down with his boots on either side of Steve’s knees and presses the palm of his hand hard into the spot he’d been standing on, twisting to grind the heel of his hand into it. It’s not super painful, through jeans, but Steve still presses up into him, leaning forward with greed lighting up his eyes. Tony likes that, and so he goes further, if not the way Steve wants, reaching up to Steve’s face with his other hand and dragging a thumb along the man’s lip, into the corner of his mouth so that the skin presses uncomfortably towards his cheek. 

“I like to get up close when I hurt somebody,” Tony murmurs low, like a promise. He digs his nails into Steve’s cheek, and Steve’s gaze grows hotter, his pelvis trying to press up even as Tony’s weight pressed into the hand on his thigh keeps him down. He pinches hard at Steve’s earlobe, and Steve huffs air hard through his nose. 

“More,” Steve begs, though his eyes are already starting to glaze a bit at the light pain as they remain fixed on Tony. Tony likes how vulnerable the face is, the way pain there somehow hits most people differently than pain to the body. He applies pressure to Steve’s jaw again, and leans in close enough that they’re sharing breath. 

“What would you like me to hurt you with? My hands? My boots? My mouth?”

Steve actually whimpers at the question, his body going looser, and Tony kind of has to resist the temptation to bear him down to the concrete floor and make him  _ cry _ . “Yes,” Steve whispers. Tony grins and grabs him by both arms, hauls him up and then grabs his own bag, tugging Steve over to some open floor mats. He can’t put his boots on them, but he gets Steve down onto the edge of the mat with a wrestling move he learned a million years ago, and then lays him flat on his back. 

“Let’s see… gentle, we agreed,” Tony teasingly “reminds” himself, pushing Steve’s thighs apart with his hands. Balanced in a crouch, he moves one boot to an inner thigh, again keeping the pressure within reasonable bounds, not really designed to push. But Steve doesn’t complain, just plants his palms into the mat and grinds up against it, eyes falling shut. Tony could reprimand him for losing eye contact, but he digs in a little with his heel instead, and Steve groans out loud.

“Good boy,” Tony murmurs, reaching up to stroke his cheek, and he’s a little surprised when Steve quickly turns his head, smearing his mouth against Tony’s palm. It’s mostly clean, but the way Steve drags his open mouth along the skin is so submissive that it hits Tony like a sucker punch, and he can’t help but encourage it, digging his fingers into the hinge of Steve’s jaw at each cheek. He drags his hand down and Steve immediately takes two fingers, sucking until his cheeks hollow. 

“Yeah,” Tony whispers, leaning in close again, shifting to his knees between Steve’s spread thighs. “That’s it. Suck for me.” He briefly forgets the game when Steve whimpers and takes his fingers in deeper, all the way to the base until Tony can feel the delicate skin at the back of Steve’s throat with his fingertips. “Fuck.” 

Steve rolls his hips, and his eyes flutter open again to meet Tony’s, somehow begging clearly even with his mouth full. Tony groans and licks around the border of Steve’s mouth, tasting the puckered skin of his lips and knowing they maybe should’ve negotiated kissing—especially since Steve showed up with someone who might be his boyfriend—but it’s hard for him to stop when Steve bucks up against Tony’s body and doesn’t even give the slightest hint of needing to safeword.

Tony slides his other hand to cup Steve’s throat, and though it’s loose enough to be comfortable, he knows that it’s a mindfuck when he presses down with his thumb and fingers, giving Steve the illusion of being choked. Still, he doesn’t pull off, and his pupils are dilated with arousal as he stares up at Tony. It’s another couple of minutes, just massaging at Steve’s neck with his fingers, stroking and pressing at his tongue, before Tony even thinks to consult the silver watch on his wrist. 

“15 minutes,” he announces with just a hint of a smirk. “Want me to stop?”

Steve’s whimper is  _ deeply  _ offended, and he grabs Tony’s wrist with both hands, trying to jam his fingers deeper and clearly annoyed when he isn’t able to. Tony just laughs, bears his weight down, and pulls them out under the clear protest of Steve’s deep suction. 

“If you stop now, I’ll murder you,” Steve mumbles, too floaty for the threat to hold much weight. He’s adorable. 

“Shhh,” Tony soothes, swiping the saliva across Steve’s cheek. “You can take more.” He goes back in with three fingers, and Steve’s sweet little mouth is small enough that they stretch his lips a bit, the image delightfully obscene. Tony rocks against him, and with his other hand maneuvers Steve’s wrists one-by-one over his head so that Tony can pin them both there. His balance is a tiny bit dicey on top of Steve’s compact and rather boney form, so he puts a little extra pressure on Steve’s wrists to maintain it, and Steve sucks harder in agreement. It feels like an age just lying there, feeling his erection against Steve’s body and fucking into his mouth, before Steve tugs back suddenly enough to make Tony pause, pulling his fingers out and shifting his weight onto the mat. 

“Is it…?”’

“Fine,” Steve gasps, sounding winded. “Just… I need to take my binder off,” he admits. “Breathing.” 

Tony blinks once, processing, then nods. He’d mistaken the fabric underneath Steve’s t-shirt for an undershirt, but it doesn’t give him much pause. “Okay. If you’re comfortable…”

“Just… cover me a bit,” Steve mumbles, shifting so he’s between Tony and the nearby wall, and Tony pushes up to do the best he can to give Steve some cover with his body without actually watching Steve take his shirt off, remove the binder, and put the shirt back on. Sure enough, there are small breasts barely visible now under the black t-shirt, but Tony doesn’t linger on them, tucking Steve’s binder into the top of his bag and then pulling him close again, lying down side by side. He hooks a leg over Steve’s thigh and uses it to nudge him against Tony’s body, the heel of his boot on Steve’s ass. Predictably, Steve whimpers a bit and rocks against Tony, then pushes his ass back for more. It’s probably not the most dignified when Tony giggles at the reaction, but he does give Steve what he wants, rubbing his heel right into the crack of Steve’s ass and grabbing a fistful of hair to tug Steve’s head back. 

“Sir,” Steve sighs when Tony’s lips find his throat, and Tony can’t help but feel a little surge of pride as he experiments with skimming them along the skin, then sucking harder at the collarbone. 

“Sir now, is it?” Tony teases, rocking his boot strategically just to make Steve moan. 

“Had to... earn it,” Steve explains breathlessly, and Tony certainly sees the logic in that, appreciates it as he scrapes his teeth along the prominent ridge of bone.

“Do I need to worry about marks?”

“Not… there. There’s fine,” Steve struggles to articulate, and Tony deems it good enough, biting down until Steve whimpers and wriggles between his boot and his cock. He definitely wants to fuck this boy till kingdom come, but for now, he settles on sucking a deep bruise just over his collarbone, and enjoying the pressure as Steve fucks against him. He digs deep scratches into Steve’s back, under his shirt, and it feels like an age that they just lie there, rubbing against each other like teenagers, Tony hurting Steve until he’s bright pink and babbling wordlessly. Tony doesn’t  _ want  _ to stop, but eventually the energy peaks, and his thigh is starting to cramp, so he slows the rhythmic rocking of his boot and carefully lowers his leg, bundling Steve close and stroking his lips. The boy just grins at him, a blissed out lump with completely different energy than he came in with. This is exactly what Tony loves about what he does, taking the sub who walked in and helping them to leave a bit different, not unlike his beloved bots or the other bits and bobs of technology he works on during the day. 

He pets Steve’s hair, letting him settle, but eventually his overactive mind needs something to grab onto, and he reaches for his bag, tugging the binder out so that he can see it and examining the seams even as he keeps his arm slung around Steve’s body. Eventually, Steve frowns, nosing at Tony’s shoulder and slurring out a question with some difficulty. “What are you doing?” 

“Oh, sorry. I’m an engineer,” Tony admits like it’s a confession, and sheepishly lets the article of clothing fall back into his bag. “It’s just.. This could be designed better, if your breathing is a problem.”

He’s a little surprised that Steve’s response to that is just a little burst of laughter, and a shake of his head. “Don’t reinvent the wheel. There  _ are _ better binders, I just can’t afford them. I do well enough with what I can find used on ebay,” he explains, his speech about three-quarters speed, but seeming happy enough with his workaround. Of course, Tony’s brain immediately fires on its “presents!” circuit, and he has to remind himself that he literally  _ just met _ this kid and can’t be showering him with gifts. Yet. 

“Is it weird that I like that you’re smaller than me?” Tony ponders instead, his mind bouncing to the next tangent. Steve just frowns, and Tony realizes he’d better clarify, given how Steve had gotten his back up earlier about assumptions. “I don’t really care,” he adds quickly. “I’m just used to proving myself with guys who think I’m a bottom, or that I’m limited in what I can do because the bottom’s bigger than me. I can prove them wrong, but it gets tiring.”

“Oh,” Steve says softly, looking like he’s only just realized Tony’s perspective. “That’s… I think that’s okay, then.” Tony laughs lightly and helps him to sit up. 

“Here. Do you have water?” 

“Oh. I left it…” Steve glances around confused for a second, as if he has no idea the layout of the space he’s been in for the past hour, but as if that’s his cue, the probably-boyfriend comes over to join them at that moment, water bottle in hand. “Oh,” Steve grins sheepishly. “Thanks, Buck.” 

“No problem,” ‘Buck’ replies, his voice low and gravelly. He crouches down next to them, careful to keep his boots off the mat, as he unscrews the bottle and hands it to Steve. Tony can’t help but stare, still stroking idly up and down Steve’s spine. The man is even more gorgeous than Tony had noticed earlier, with stormy grey eyes and silky hair falling past his shoulders. His left arm hangs limp by his side, and it’s only due to the prosthetics work SI has recently started exploring that Tony clocks it as a passive prosthesis. 

“So this isn’t really your jam?” Tony asks, loosely indicating the room around them. “Here for moral support?”

Bucky shrugs, and the way the left arm doesn’t really respond independently to the movement confirms Tony’s assumption. “I’m not sure. Not as sure as Steve, anyway.” 

Tony laughs, ruffling his hair, and offers his hand once Steve has finished with the water and Bucky has his right arm free. 

“I’m Tony, by the way.”

“Bucky.” The man frowns a little, cocking his head to the side. “Weren’t you on the cover of  _ Scientific American _ last month?” 

Of all things, that’s not really how Tony expects to be recognized, and so he takes it in good humor, grinning and grabbing his own water bottle for a few gulps. “You caught me. I… tinker a bit.” Bucky doesn’t look like he believes him, but there’s no real reason to ask how much Bucky  _ does _ know about Tony or Stark Industries, when he’s got a much better motive in mind. “So do you have a bit of scientist in you?” he asks, and before Bucky can respond, Steve crows out the follow-up, dissolving into giggles.

“Want some more?!”

“Steven, you are a pest,” Bucky grumbles, but it’s fond. “I’m a mechanic,” he answers Tony. “But I like to read about scientific advances.”

“Ah.” Tony licks his lips, uncharacteristically shy, and Steve, now flopped onto his back between them, gives them both a big dopey grin. 

“I think Tony wants to put his tongue in your mouth. You should let him.”

Tony’s eyebrows go up, but Steve’s got a point. He gives Bucky a questioning look, and is a little surprised that the more reticent man doesn’t shrug it off, just scoots forward on the mats and presses his mouth to Tony’s. He’s warm, relaxed, and  _ good at this _ , Tony realizes, settling in for a good make-out session even as they both stroke at Steve’s body. His mind’s already whirring with how to convince Bucky to take a better prosthetic and Steve a  _ closetful _ of better binders, but this is probably why Pepper always says he’s easier to handle with his mouth full. She’s not wrong _. _


End file.
